


In the Lion's Den

by JazzRaft



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: There was only one Cor Leonis who resided in Insomnia; only one Marshal to the King and Commander of the Crownsguard; only one warrior who was recognized by the mantle of “Immortal” for the primeval weapon that cleaved along his hip and marked his prowess against the world’s oldest, deadliest ghost story...And yet, Nyx had the gall to shrug it off, smile, and say, "It's just Cor."





	In the Lion's Den

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aithilin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/gifts).



> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/178052714752/nyxnoct-a-sunday-afternoon-tea) for [aithilin.](http://aithilin.tumblr.com/)

Well…

This was awkward.

Or, no, maybe awkward wasn’t quite the right word for it; “awkward” would imply he was embarrassed or ashamed or that this particular attendance was somehow humiliating to him; but humiliated was so, _so_ far from how he felt about sitting next to Nyx right now. Though, uncomfortable? About the cutting calm of Cor’s silence across the table? Yeah, uncomfortable would probably be a more accurate term for how Noctis felt about all of this.

“You’re not nervous,” Noctis had observed, only an hour ago (though it had felt more like one life sentence in a supermax ago). “Why aren’t you nervous?”

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Nyx had laughed, as if they were going on a nice, Sunday afternoon stroll through the park and _not_ on a death march to the gallows of his potential executioner. “It’s just Cor.”

Noctis had pulled him to a short stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Nothing out of the ordinary for the few people passing by – just the Prince and one of his guards, debating directions on their way to royal business. Obviously. It was still hard for Noctis to train himself against taking Nyx’s hand when they were in public. Harder still for him to believe that Nyx could be so calm about what he’d just said.

“It’s. _Just?_ Cor? Do you hear yourself? You do know where we’re going, right?”

Nyx had just smiled at him and, for once, it had the opposite effect on Noctis from the tingly warmth of reassurance that he intended. Instead, Noctis was afraid he’d lost his mind somewhere along the road from the Citadel, and that they needed to turn around to find it again _immediately_.

And yet, Nyx had sounded perfectly sane when he said, “It’ll be fine, Noct. If I could make it past your father, I can make it past anyone.”

“Nyx.” _Oh, Nyx. Sweet, swaggering, love-of-my-life Nyx. You adorable yet utter fool._ “I don’t think you understand. Dad might by the King, but he’s still just Dad. He’s not that hard to please, and he liked you enough already _before_ we started dating. Nyx… This is _Cor_.”

“You keep saying that like he’s supposed to scare me.”

“He should!”

They _were_ talking about the same person here, right? There was only one Cor Leonis who resided in Insomnia; only one Marshal to the King and Commander of the Crownsguard; only one warrior who was recognized by the mantle of “Immortal” for the primeval weapon that cleaved along his hip and marked his prowess against the world’s oldest, deadliest ghost story.

Not to mention that this was the self-same Uncle Cor who so often collapsed into the dining chair beside Noct’s father to seethe about the weekly grievances of whoever’s bright idea it was in the Kingsglaive to charge the legions of the damned beyond the Wall before the order to Crownsguard back-up went through. While he never named names, there was never any doubt in Noct’s mind who was at the head of those rebellious charges.

He never did forget those clipped comments over catoblepas brisket on Saturday nights.

Neither, it seemed, had Cor.

He was already annoyed when they arrived, Noctis was sure of it. He could tell, he could always tell, it wasn’t that hard _not_ to tell – he brought the sword, for Shiva’s sake; who brought a sword to a tea room if they weren’t already royally annoyed about their sorta-nephew’s new boyfriend and wanted the whole world to know it?

Not that there were any prying eyes peering up from behind menus to judge that the Crown Prince was in the middle of lobbying for the continued existence of his secret, Kingsglaive paramour. Those who most frequented the royal spotlight had a nose – or, more honestly, a sizable shush tab – for public places open to discretion. Noctis remembered coming often to this particular establishment throughout his childhood, for private weekend teas, much like this one, when Cor came back from long missions beyond the Wall.

In the ever-changing bulwark of Insomnia’s industry, it was the Marshal’s modest support for the shop, and respect for its fair treatment of those both of royal regard and not, that kept it open for so long. Which wasn’t to say that Cor owned the place, or demanded exclusivity in order to ban the paparazzi from bothering him and his guests when they attended. He merely had a rapport of mutual respect with the proprietors, and the wizened regulars with decades of time to be accustomed to the sight of royalty, to the point that celebrity no longer distracted them from their manners.

Noctis had always liked it here, the near-silent murmurings of old veterans muted by light, wooden walls; the quiet click of ceramic pots and plates and cups exchanged across the low table by kind-faced attendants; the comfy cushions in place of hard-backed chairs that made it easier for him to adjust if his back was feeling stiff.

The tea shop had always been an eye of calm and safety amidst the chaotic whorls of the city. But then, maybe it hadn’t been the shop itself that made him feel warm on a chilly day. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that it was here Noctis saw Cor smile the most.

He wasn’t smiling today.

Noctis was already blaming himself for that – maybe he didn’t hide his nervousness well enough, maybe he’d brought too much of his panic over Nyx’s lack of it into the shop with him, maybe Cor had picked up on that, and maybe he thought that Nyx was the cause of his stress, and maybe the whole point of this meeting was to warn him against doing just that and Noctis had already failed the test for him before Nyx even got the chance to prove himself.

Cor hadn’t said a word since offering acknowledgment of their presence at the door – “Marshal,” Nyx had smiled; “Ulric. Noctis,” Cor had scowled. He’d lead them to his usual booth, muttered that he’d already ordered them something, and once they were all settled in, said nothing more until the waitress appeared with their tray of tea, and even then, it was only to thank her.

Cor just sat, arms crossed, back straight, and he stared, and he scowled, and Nyx smiled like it didn’t bother him, and the silence made Noctis feel sick. He burnt his tongue on the tea because he couldn’t stand to wait for something horrible to happen before it cooled. All it got him was a squeeze to his knee while he feigned that it didn’t blister like a burst volcano in his mouth. Noctis nearly flinched from Nyx’s comforting touch, certain that if his hand came within ten feet of him now, Cor would take it clean off.

While he didn’t draw his sword, the sound of his voice could just as easily cleave limb from joint.

“Six months.”

Noctis gulped down the earthy flavor of the tea – and the rusty taste of his own boiling skin. Six months had been how long he and Nyx had been together, information that had lifted his father’s eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and concern – surprised that Noctis could keep a secret for that long; concerned that he felt he needed to keep it from him. Where Regis had been concerned about that last part, Cor was more on the angry side of being left in the dark.

Noctis opened his mouth to defend Nyx. Nyx opened his to defend Noctis. And because Noct was nursing a burnt tongue, Nyx beat him to it.

“The decision was mutual,” Nyx started, steady as a captain’s hands at the helm of an airship, the gaze held between him and Cor an unbreakable bow splitting through choppy waters. “For both our safety. I didn’t want Noct to get the shit end of a scandal for choosing to be with me, he didn’t want me to get lynched for being” – he pursed his lips; he didn’t want to say “an immigrant,” or “a nuisance,” or “a commoner,” or “a servant,” but they had both feared that was all people would think of him if they knew. Instead, he just said – “me.”

Any trepidation Noctis might have felt over holding Nyx’s hand was eclipsed by the certainty he felt that he loved Nyx no matter who he was. While Cor’s forward stare remained unmoved from Nyx’s face, Noctis knew he was watching those hands, that tactile connection between the two of them, finally telling him the truth of any skipped meetings or missed training sessions or hastily requested leave time.

Though Cor’s gaze remained trained on Nyx, reading through some secret code between soldiers that Noctis didn’t fully understand, he knew his next words were for him.

“You felt you couldn’t tell your father because…”

Noctis knew there was an “and I” redacted from that non-question. Cor never liked to make anything about himself – came with the shame of being popularized as “the Immortal.” But Noctis knew what he wasn’t saying. He knew that it was the secret itself which stung, not the other person who was a part of it.

“Because I knew you’d both worry,” Noctis said, words rushing out of him faster than he wanted them to. “I knew you’d try too hard to make it okay, try to snuff out any scandal that threatened to come up, and somehow that would get out, and everyone would start asking what we were trying to hide, and then everyone would know, everyone would talk about it, and I just wanted it to be quiet for a little bit, just the two of us, together…”

“Take a breath, Noctis.”

Right. Air. Needed that to not pass out like a frail, vintage, silver-screen belle in the middle of a life crisis. He felt Nyx’s fingers gripped between his, pressing the indents between his knuckles like he knew he needed to feel to be grounded. To know that he was right there beside him and that everything was fine and that if Nyx wasn’t worried, neither should Noct be.

Cor scrutinized the two of them for one more round of silence, watching in that way which didn’t really look at them, but saw it all, nonetheless. He could see the moments Noctis hadn’t told him about – those secret moments with Nyx, the private ones, the quiet ones that he’d wanted to keep so badly – and he could see what it meant to the both of them. Not just Noct.

Cor breathed out through his nose, an inaudible, motionless sigh in the still shop.

“Drink your tea. It’s rude to the host to let it go cold.”

The light circling of Nyx’s thumb beneath his palm signaled to Noct that they were in the clear – and Noct was sure there was a coded “I told you so” in those circles. Even so, Noctis didn’t feel relieved by the smooth drink soothing his scorched tongue. Not until Cor said:

“To be clear. In the _unlikely_ event that you two should ever separate, _if_ that separation should end anything short of amicably, _Ulric_ , be assured that I don’t carry around this sword solely for aesthetic purposes.”

Nyx grinned, and sipped his tea. “Coulda fooled me, Marshal. Keep wearing that thing like a trophy instead of using it and people will start to think you’re all bark and no bite.”

“A sword should only be used when absolutely necessary.” Cor glared at him. “Don’t be necessary.”

Noctis leaned back on his hands and drank his tea. Aaahhh. Now that was more like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if you enjoyed Nyx and Noct's first encounter with the ferocious Cor and his grueling tests of approval!


End file.
